Image from Johnny Yesterday |
I was young then, not even a decade old. My birth clade cycled between social and asocial periods. Once I reached maturity my family unit disbanded. I travelled a lot. I would join survey probes heading to uninhabited systems. On arrival they'd build me a body and so long as I didn't unduly disturb their work, or the environment, they would leave me be.
*
I had swum a small ocean to reach the polar continent. Arriving at the base of a jagged cliff I pulled myself inwards, wrapping my organs into a ball. Dozens of tentacles and sensory pseudopods sprouted from my surface. At the same time my mind unpacked the networks needed to process all-around vision. With molecular forests extruded from my limbs I easily scrambled up the cliff-face. In mere seconds I reached the summit, a tangle of meaty ropes. It was deathly cold. As the snow began to burn my flesh I spun an aerogel layer in my epidermis. My body thus protected I set off, rolling across the landscape.
*
In two days I arrived at the location that had spurred my journey. The longest mountain range in the world towered before me, weaving for nine thousand kilometers across the crown of the globe. I planned to walk it, a personal homage to our ancestor progenitors. Those of single form and life who travelled the birth world despite its dangers. I would need to prepare further. This world was abiotic though some evidence suggested long dead thermal vents harboured the beginnings of life. But if they did it never took hold. This world's tectonic phase was nearly ended, its sun had dimmed too far to keep the oceans liquid for long. In a few hundred thousand years it would all be ice. More pressing to me was the lack of easily available chemical fuels. I had explored the equatorial seas by occasionally basking on the surface, absorbing the meager solar rays. For my journey here I would not be able to rely on the sun for long. In a month the north pole would enter a three year long dark period, as this hemisphere turned through its long winter.
*
I could have returned to the water, stuck myself to the cliff and grown gills to filter out trace fissile material. However to gather enough to make radiothermic bone would take all of this winter and the next. I chose to store as much sunlight as possible and rely on low temperature modifications to help ration my energy reserves. Upon the first mountain face I spread myself into a wide and thin mat of tendrils. My outer layer darkened to near perfect black so as to absorb nearly every stray photon. I recycled some body mass into glands that secreted layers of superconductive crystal. Once a gland had finished synthesising crystal hoops swarms of mycelia deposited carbon nanotube jacketing. Nervous cabling bound to the disks, first inflating them with power before preparing to later transport energy as needed to millions of converter organs. There waste products would be recycled into chemical fuel, formed via electron transport chains powered by the solenoid batteries.
*
By the time of the last sunset until spring I had made thirty three storage discs of similar size. I arranged them in a vertical row, linked by strong ligature, and pulled my body into a mass around this spine. From my thick torso emerged five stumps; two short bowed legs, two long arms, a fat sensory tower within which I concentrated into a centralised processor. My limbs grew five digits arranged around a flat plate. The front of my head spun two visual sensors, a flattened chemical sensor, and a wide orifice for gas exchange. Reflexes and instincts unpacked in my mind. I stretched the pliable tissue around my orifice to expose my bioceramic compactors. As the metamorphosis completed thick fur blossomed on my surface. This body was as accurate as I could make it, in appearance it was identical to the progenitors. True my eyes saw far better in this darkness, my wet-phase nanomachines were optimal at 210 kelvin, and my fur was an insulating polymer weave rather than keratin. But in truth they would not survive here. Which is why I walk for them.
Outer volume tales. Anon.
Image from Keith Wigdor |